


Not Alone (Anymore)

by mirqueen



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirqueen/pseuds/mirqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another holiday spent alone is anything but fun. Felicity’s day-before-Thanksgiving routine doesn’t make it any easier this year. But Oliver’s timely friendship just might make it a little less lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Alone (Anymore)

Disclaimer: I do not own nor make any profit off of _Arrow_. It belongs to The CW, DC Comics, etc.

A/N: A story for an Olicity Thanksgiving — stuck somewhere between 2x07 and 2x08. Not sure this is entirely in-character at some points, but I liked the idea. Might do a sequel of Thanksgiving Dinner or something, but I don’t know yet. Also posted on my Tumblr account [Hoodsmoaked](http://hoddsmoaked.tumblr.com/).

> **Not Alone (Anymore)**

The day before Thanksgiving was a hectic day from start to finish, no doubt about it. From the moment the annoying buzz hit Felicity Smoak’s eardrums until the moment she stepped through her door later that night, the day was filled with all the nuisances of an over-promoted national holiday.

Her work at Queen Consolidated had been frustrating with Isabel Rochev hovering in the office half the day and making crude, subtle cracks about the ‘benefits’ of being Oliver’s executive assistant. Felicity had wanted to be mad at Oliver for not saying anything, but after the injuries he had sustained the previous night, and the dark shadows under his eyes, the IT expert’s words died in her throat every time.

Felicity sighed at the memory as she tried to get through the baking aisle at the grocery store, wondering why precisely she had offered to help Quentin Lance with his holiday shopping earlier.

The overworked man was slowly becoming something along the lines of a friend, particularly after he realized the IT professional was ‘friends’ with Sara. But Felicity couldn’t honestly say she imagined herself offering to buy his groceries for Thanksgiving dinner.

Granted, while Oliver and Diggle handled a gang threat across town, the police officer had his hands full with a tide of overeager amateur goonies taking advantage of the holiday craze to peddle drugs. Felicity had just helped Lance stop one drug sale, as a matter of fact, when the man decided to start talking about his younger daughter.

"I don’t know if Sara talked much about what happened to her," Lance started hesitantly. "But I can’t help thinking you know more than I do."

"Detective…" Felicity began, still finding it difficult to call him ‘officer’ in conversation.

"Now, I’m not asking for details," he cut her off immediately, setting her mind a little more at ease. "I just… I think you understand as well as I do why Sara doesn’t want to come back home for keeps. Why she doesn’t want to reveal herself to her mother and sister. And I get that. Hard as it is, I can even accept that. I’d do the same if I had to."

Felicity felt for the man, really she did. His family was a mess and it wasn’t going to clear up anytime soon, if ever. She just worried where exactly he was going with this line of talk.

"But I can’t imagine  _not_  spending time with my daughter on Thanksgiving,” Lance went on, sighing heavily. “Laurel and I always spend the day-before together. And then she visits her mother for the day-of. I figured I could have Sara over for the day. Just… spend some time. But I don’t  _have_  time. Not today, at least.”

"Why are you telling me all this?" Felicity couldn’t help asking.

"I need your help," he responded with another sigh, this one more sheepish than heavy-laden. "See… I don’t get off duty until late tonight. Sort of a make-up day for missing tomorrow night. So I don’t have time to go buy the groceries for tomorrow. And I need the stuff tonight because I work early tomorrow. By the time I get out, there won’t be time to get it all done and cook, too. You getting me?"

"You want me to buy your Thanksgiving groceries?" Felicity asked flatly.

"I’m sorry, I know this is an imposition," Lance replied instantly, groaning over the line. "But I don’t know anyone else I can really tell without them getting suspicious of me buying enough for two while I’m supposed to be alone. And I can’t contact Sara. I just know she’s coming tomorrow night right at dinnertime."

Being a sucker for helpless situations, and knowing all too well the feeling of not being able to tell anyone, Felicity had said yes far too quickly. That was how she ended up holding a spare apartment key and stuck in the baking aisle, although she had decided to add her own shopping to the list as well.

Checking the clock on her phone for the hundredth time, the blonde sighed exasperatedly at the black screen. Why hadn’t she charged the phone before she left? She didn’t have an explanation, so she put the device away irritably.

Her exasperation grew when she finally made it through doors of the store, only to get caught by a glitch in the theft detection system and have to wait another thirty minutes to go through her receipt with the nearest cashier. On the way out, Felicity honestly was ready to throw in the towel.

Of course, that would be the moment when she ran into one of her old high school tormentors. The once perfect-looking Jacquelyn Renner had lost a bit of her natural charm, but her arrogance remained the same as she taunted Felicity’s ‘promotion’ with the air of a beauty parlor gossip-monger . Having barely handled Isabel, Felicity was entirely unprepared for the emotional response the taunting reared in her.

Watching the former Homecoming Queen snottily walk away, Felicity felt more hurt than she cared to admit. Ashamed she had so easily let an old enemy get under her skin, the blonde nevertheless continued to feel terrible on the way to Quentin Lance’s apartment building.

Tears began to fall when she stopped to glance at family photos, and didn’t stop even after she had left the pertinent groceries in Lance’s apartment and headed down to her car.

Swiping under her glasses to rid her face of the offending tears, and sniffling with annoying frequency, the IT expert didn’t even notice Oliver standing by the mini cooper until he called her name.

"Felicity?"

Startled, the woman in question gasped and jumped, whipping up to look at the unexpected visitor.

"Oliver?" she questioned, alarmed, stopped less than three feet away from his black leather and jean-clad form. "Is something wrong? What are you doing here?"

"I would ask the same," he replied concernedly, eyeing her still-wet face with furrowed brows, "but Lance already informed me when he called to make sure you weren’t alone out here. His apartment isn’t exactly uptown."

"Then what are you doing here as…" Felicity began a bit too loudly, immediately lowering her voice to a furious whisper, "…as  _you_?”

"He asked me as Oliver Queen," the billionaire responded thoughtfully, quietly. "He seemed to think I was adequate protection as myself."

"Do you think he… knows?" she wondered tentatively.

Sighing a bit heavily, Oliver answered just as tentatively, “I haven’t ruled it out… But he didn’t insinuate anything overt, so I’ll leave it as-is for the time being. In the meantime, let me drive me home. You don’t look like should be driving right now.”

"I’m not drunk!" was Felicity’s indignant reply. She purposely ignored the real issue, praying in vain he would let it lie.

"Felicity," he said warningly, giving her a  _look_.

"Whatever," she mumbled, glancing towards the ground and away from his keen blue eyes. "How did you get here, anyway? And how did you know where I’d be?"

"On the first count, Digg dropped me off on his way home," Oliver answered easily. "On the second, I have to admit I used your phone tracker."

"Seriously?" the blonde sighed, shaking her head.

"Come on," Oliver suggested more gently, offering a hand in her line of sight. "Let’s get you home. It’s almost midnight."

"What?" Felicity nearly screeched, dismayed to find so much time had passed. "But I left for the store at eight o’clock! That’s nearly four hours!"

"Yeah, it is," Oliver agreed, grasping the hand she had not yet given him and tugging her towards the passenger door. "You were shopping for two thanksgiving meals, though. And from the look of the bags, you added in your weekly shopping list as well. Big night for you."

Grumbling, the IT expert got in and pulled the belt over before Oliver even closed the door.

Groaning and complaining took up most of the car ride to Felicity’s condo, during which she took off her shoes and glasses while Oliver generally remained silent aside from an occasional sound of acknowledgment or understanding. When her words had run down to the same complaints three times in a row, the IT expert knew she needed to stop.

Luckily for her, Oliver pulled into the parking garage at that moment, cutting off any more irritations Felicity could think up to say. He was around to her door and pulling it open by the time she had her purse in order, her shoes on, and her glasses in place.

"Head inside, Felicity," Oliver informed her, pushing gently at the middle of her back towards the side door.

"My groceries—" she began to protest, but he waved her off.

"I’ll bring them in," he told her kindly, giving her a small smile of encouragement. "Just go on. Put on something comfortable and relax, okay?"

Wavering for a long moment in indecision, Felicity thought up all the reasons she should refuse his offer.

"Do I have to carry you?" Oliver threatened with very real intent, leaning into her space, and the blonde made an undignified squeak in response, turning on a dime to head inside her home. The billionaire’s amused chuckling followed her through the doorway.

After changing into gray corduroy leggings, an over-sized red sweater, and matching slipper socks, Felicity felt at least a little more relaxed than she had most of the day. But as she pulled her hair from its confines and brushed out the knots, Felicity still felt like crying for reasons she had yet to determine.

Shoving aside the feeling so she could deal with Oliver, Felicity headed through the living room to find the him in her kitchen, his dark leather jacket hung on a dining chair while he put away all of her groceries as if he lived there.

"How do you…?" she almost asked, watching him put her new box of garbage bags in exactly the right place beneath the sink, but shook her head exasperatedly. It really wasn’t worth finding out sometimes. "You know what, I leave it to you and you’re ninja brain. You know my ins and outs far too well."

Oliver stopped mid-reach into the cupboard of dry goods, turning to stare at her with a tilted head and glittering eyes. Gulping past the humiliation burning her throat, Felicity closed her eyes with a slight wince.

"That didn’t come out right," she deflected with typical diligence, holding up her pointer finger to forestall a hypothetical argument she knew would never come.

Oliver never said anything about her inappropriate remarks; he just called her name to get her back on track — something for which she was very grateful.

Suppressing a smile — one she just  _knew_  he wanted to let loose — Oliver continued putting away the groceries. Felicity stood there a little uselessly, deciding to let him keep on as he was. It was fascinating to see him seamlessly working through a place he had never been in before.

"Done," he told her after awhile, stuffing the last plastic bag into the dispenser and turning to face Felicity where she leaned against the counter.

"Thank you," she shrugged awkwardly. Having Oliver Queen stand in her small kitchen was an altogether strange experience.

"You’re welcome," he smiled slightly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans with casual grace. "Now… you going to tell me why I found you crying outside Lance’s apartment?"

Sighing tiredly, Felicity turned away from him and stepped back towards the living room. “I just had a bad day, Oliver. You did  _hear_  me complaining on the way over here, didn’t you?”

"Yeah, I did," he agreed, and she could almost hear him nodding. "Even the part about Judgy Jackie."

Freezing at the hideous nickname she had long ago dubbed Jacquelyn Renner with, and the mixture of vague amusement and definite anger fusing Oliver’s voice, the blonde wished she had never told him anything.

"Felicity," he prompted her quietly, coming up behind her to lay a hand on her shoulder.

Another sigh gushed from her lips, and Felicity knew she had to give him more than that. Otherwise he would never leave her to her inexplicable need to cry.

"I just… Jacquelyn brought up some old insecurities, is all," she threw out awkwardly. It was the truth, however partially.

"Really?" Oliver asked doubtfully. "Like Isabel did all today?"

"You knew?" Felicity wondered in amazement, then sudden hurt. "Why didn’t you say anything then?"

"I did," he quickly replied.

"I never heard it," Felicity nearly snapped, stinging from the lack of importance he placed on the situation.

"I didn’t want you to think I was putting on a show for you," Oliver shrugged uncomfortably, looking away from her. "To make up for taking your choice about the position away from you."

Stunned by the honest, simple confession, Felicity stared at his profile longer than necessary.

"I… I don’t…" she finally spoke, haltingly, still quite blindsided. "I didn’t know… Well, thank you."

Oliver nodded once, allowing a  few beats to pass before he picked up the conversation again. “I’m pretty that’s not why you were crying, though.”

Scowling frustratedly over his persistence, Felicity tried to muster courage enough to order him out, but she couldn’t do it. He was so earnest, gazing at her in worry as he was, and she crumpled under the concerned expression.

"Jacqueline brought back all of my insecurities from when I was younger," the IT expert started abruptly, wincing at the suddenness of her response. "I thought I moved past all of that the past several years, but… I guess you can’t escape things running that deep."

"What things?" Oliver asked softly, carefully. He seemed afraid to break her with his very breath.

"Being the too-smart kid," Felicity admitted hesitantly, folding her arms over her stomach as though protecting herself. "The know-it-all with ugly hair and glasses… Everyone thought I was just showing off my smarts, but really I just couldn’t stop talking. We didn’t even understand that was my problem until the psychiatrist told us in high school."

"Who’s we?" Oliver interrupted indignantly, startling Felicity from her intent gaze on the floor. "And what the hell were you taken to a doctor for? You were just a kid."

"My foster parents didn’t understand why I seemed to show off so much," she explained quietly, nervously. She had never explained any of that time in her life to another human soul. Felicity didn’t even understand why it was hitting her so hard now, of all times. She had made peace with the feelings years earlier. At least she thought so…

"You were in the foster system?" Oliver asked, stunned and quiet.

"Yeah," she responded, biting her lip. "My parents gave me up when I was a baby."

"Oh, Felicity, I didn’t know," Oliver added, groaning. "I just… I’m sorry I never took the time to find out."

"We haven’t had a lot of time outside of fighting crime and losing a war and saving the company," Felicity chuckled uncomfortably, hoping her hurt didn’t show. "Anyway, I probably seemed kind of normal after what you’d been through. Why would you feel the need to ask?"

"Because you’re my  _friend_ , Felicity,” Oliver fired back instantly, looking furiously angry with himself. “Friends ask things like that. And I didn’t. I haven’t asked you anything about your life or your time outside of our interactions with the company and the vigilante. I’m so sorry.”

"It’s okay," she comforted him, reaching out to grasp his arm.

"No, it’s not," he retorted, still angry, but he didn’t throw off her hand at least. "You were right about me. I’m so consumed with my own problems that I don’t think of the people around me. I wish I could say I have some deep, psychological reason for it. Something to excuse it, but I’m not sure if I do. I’m not sure if it’s genuinely some emotional barrier or… if it’s just me. The  _old_  me. Maybe I haven’t changed at all.”

"That’s not true," Felicity argued, hackles rising as they did whenever Oliver cut himself down. "If you hadn’t changed, you would still be killing everyone on your father’s list. You wouldn’t have made a vow to honor Tommy by not killing whenever possible. The old Oliver wouldn’t give a second thought to the way his reputation affects the family company; he wouldn’t have tried to save it half as badly as you are now. And that Oliver certainly wouldn’t admit to being wrong. You wouldn’t have been there for Digg in Moscow, and you wouldn’t have been there for me two weeks ago. The old Oliver, even the one from just six months ago, wouldn’t have done that."

"You were only caught by the Count because of my need for revenge last year," Oliver argued vehemently. "If I have just let the police catch him or even killed him outright, instead of drugging him out of his mind, he might never have realized who I was. He may never even have gotten out of prison."

"Those are what-if scenarios, Oliver!" Felicity scolded him exasperatedly, catching and holding his blue gaze with determination. "What happened is done and over. He’s dead now. No matter how much you rethink your choices, it  _happened_. And you can’t change it!”

Sighing in a huff, Oliver closed his eyes as the truth weighed down on him, shoulders eventually slumping with defeat.

"You are not a terrible person, Oliver," the blonde assured him more kindly, reaching out to grasp both of his arms rather than just one. "You just need to keep learning how to interact with the people around you. You’ve still got a ways to go in that respect. Not only have you been trying to break your once uncaring, selfish, and deceptive habits, but you’ve also been trying to break five years of isolation, doubt, fear, and mistrust atop more mistrust. But you’ll make it. You’re getting better and more thoughtful every day. Just what you’ve done tonight is amazing. Would last year’s Oliver Queen have driven me home and put away my groceries and asked me what’s wrong?"

Struggling visibly with the simple truth, Oliver remained mute for several minutes before exhaling in resignation. “No. I wouldn’t have done this last year. I would have watched and wondered, but never asked.”

"Exactly," Felicity confirmed. "You  _have_  changed.”

"Then I’m going to keep up that change," he returned in an almost challenging tone. "And ask what really bothered you tonight. Because so far, none of it seems be making you cry. I don’t want you to, but clearly it was something bigger than what you’ve told me. Otherwise, I think you would already be in tears."

"I don’t know," was her helpless response, hands finally dropping from his arms. "I honestly don’t know what got me crying. It wasn’t Jacquelyn. I know she started an emotional backlash I wasn’t prepared for, but that wasn’t what made me cry."

"When exactly did you start crying?" Oliver inquired with a frown.

"Just after I came into Lance’s apartment," Felicity told him, biting her lip as she recalled entering the room and catching sight of the family photos everywhere. "When I saw… the photos."

"Of the Lance family?" Oliver guessed correctly.

"Yes. But… what does that even mean—?" the IT professional nearly asked, when the thought struck her hard.

"I was sad because they were happy together," she confessed aloud, almost unaware of her own speech. "Like a family should be."

The idea flooded her mind roughly, messily cutting through the misconception that she had ever healed from her parents’ abandonment so many years earlier.

"Like you never had," Oliver assumed gently, catching Felicity off guard with his simple understanding.

"I… yes. Yes. That was why…" she struggled to put it into words, tears building up behind her eyes once again. "Jacquelyn mocked me because of the rumors about us, about why I’m your EA. As if I would be spending the day catering to you instead of making my own plans. And she said it was okay because I didn’t have any family to spend Thanksgiving with anyway. So why would it matter that I’m just bending to your will instead of living my own life. With my own family."

Felicity was rambling, she realized, trying to fill the growing void in her heart with something less painful than the realization she had come to.

"She was right," Felicity gasped quietly, gulping back persistent tears. "I don’t have any family to go to. I’m spending Thanksgiving alone. Another holiday spent alone. And I’m trying to handle it. I’ve always tried to handle it and I know I can be strong, but it’s so hard because all I have is me. I don’t really make friends, I don’t get boyfriends. I’m too awkward for either one. They just think I’m a fool who talks too much about the wrong topics and never says the right thing. No one wants that. No one has ever wanted that. Even my parents."

Felicity hadn’t even recognized the feelings for what they were. She was that good at squashing and denying her loneliness, her feelings of being unwanted. So good she could cry at the realization without actually understanding it.

"No, no. No, Felicity," Oliver reached out to grasp her arms this time, shaking her just enough to catch her anxious gaze. "You  _are_  wanted. We have each other now. You, John, and me. We’re a team, a strange little family. You aren’t alone anymore.”

Felicity’s tears spilled over as Oliver countered her fears, the wet drops falling down her cheeks in warm, endless rivers. She really loved when he allowed himself to be sentimental.

"You’ve never said that before," she whispered, her emotions boiling over completely. 

"It’s about time I did, then," he half-laughed, reaching up to squeeze her shoulders reassuringly. Laughing a little in return, Felicity swiped at her tears beneath her glasses and tried to pull herself together, although it proved difficult.

Without the slightest warning, the blonde found herself in quite a strange situation. One she never expected to be in, honestly, because it seemed impossible. Yet here it happened, and it was neither a joke nor a dream.

Oliver was hugging her.

It was the first time he had ever done so, but the way he wrapped his arms around her body was so natural, so effortless, she would have thought they’d done it time and time again over the last year or so.

Remembering that hugs were generally two-way communications, Felicity abruptly lifted her arms to wrap around Oliver’s muscled back.

"Thank you," she found the voice to say, squeezing slightly for emphasis.

"Thank you, too," Oliver responded affectionately. "I’m grateful to have met you."

"Oliver!" Felicity gasped as she caught sight of the clock behind him. pulling her head back to hold his eyes.

Startled, the billionaire’s eyes widened comically. “What? What happened?”

"Happy Thanksgiving!" she all but squealed, allowing a tiny grin on her face.

Snorting and beginning to chuckle loudly, Oliver found just enough breath to reply, “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Felicity.”

* * *

 


End file.
